


Lakmé

by TheEigthPillarGeneral



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wolfgang Bogdanow-centric, brief discussion of imperialism, discussions about stereotypes of Indian people, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 19:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10646379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEigthPillarGeneral/pseuds/TheEigthPillarGeneral
Summary: When Wolfgang and Felix attend a production of the opera Lakmé in Berlin, not only does Wolfgang grow disgusted, but he finds discussions with Kala about the opera far more interesting than the opera itself. Meanwhile, Kala herself gets annoyed with the whole opera, but has fun with talking to Wolfgang.





	Lakmé

**Author's Note:**

> First fic for this fandom! Seriously though, I love Kala and Wolfgang, they're so cute! This idea struck me not too long ago, and before I knew it, I started writing it! I'm Indian myself (Tamil, actually), and I've never liked the opera Lakmé. I wanted to see what these two would think of it, so the plot bunny started and refused to leave me alone until I wrote this. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Sense8 belongs to the Wachowskis, not me.

Since they received the large payment for the Mumbai diamonds they had sold, Felix had been wanting to try out everything that rich people apparently did. It amused Wolfgang, the way Felix was so excited about going to fancy restaurants, high-end stores, and the like. But one thing that confused him was when Felix showed up with two tickets to see a production of Mozart’s _Die Zauberflöte_ by the Berlin State Opera, or the Deutsche Staatsoper Berlin, last month. Because according to Felix, rich people loved opera. Since then, Felix had been making him come to every other opera in the company’s season repertoire. So far, he’d seen _Die Zauberflöte, Lucia di Lammermoor, Madama Butterfly,_ and _Roméo et Juliette._

Tonight, he and Felix were getting ready to see a French opera, also by the Deutsche Staatsoper Berlin. Wolfgang put on his nicest suit, tying his red tie before running a comb through his blond hair.

“You’ve never been interested in opera before, Felix,” Wolfgang said as he sprayed some light cologne. “Why the sudden interest now?”

Felix gave him a half-smile. “No reason,” he said lightly. “The music’s pretty nice, and the costumes are always great to look at.”

“Touché,” Wolfgang conceded, remembering the production of Donizetti’s _Lucia di Lammermoor_ they had seen. The ladies’ costumes had been especially dazzling to look at.

Felix, now dressed in his finest clothing, was waiting for Wolfgang to finish getting ready. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Glancing in the mirror once more, Wolfgang left the room, following Felix out to their car. “So, what opera are we seeing tonight?” he asked. Felix often only told what production they’d be seeing only on the way to the Lindenoper building in the Mitte district.

“It’s called _Lakmé,_ and it’s by Léo Delibes,” Felix explained. “It’s like that _Madama Butterfly_ opera we went to, except the story’s set in India.”

Wolfgang raised an eyebrow. “India?” he repeated. “And it’s like _Madama Butterfly?”_ He remembered how Sun Bak had been incredibly disgusted by _Madama Butterfly,_ stating that the way Cio-Cio-san was portrayed was simply degrading to East Asian women. He couldn’t help but agree with her on that one.

Felix nodded. “Yeah. It’s got a similar storyline,” he said.

Well, then. This was going to be an interesting evening.

They eventually arrived at the opulent Lindenoper building. Wolfgang couldn’t help but admire the beauty of the opera house each time he was there. The outside still retained a historic kind of grandeur, but the inside was what really stood out. The auditorium was well-lit, grand, and beautifully decorated. It was as spectacular as the Teatro alla Scala in Milan, which Wolfgang had only seen photos of.

After getting two programmes, Wolfgang and Felix sat down in their seats, which was located in the middle row. They had a perfect view of the stage, one that wouldn’t be blocked by the orchestra or by other guests. Once he was seated, Wolfgang opened up the programme and began reading through it.

Felix was right, the story was almost identical to _Madama Butterfly._ Set in the British Raj, the opera told the story of Lakmé, a Hindu priestess, falling in love with a British officer named Gérald, after he trespasses on temple grounds. Yet when Gérald is supposed to return to his duties as an officer, Lakmé becomes heartbroken and commits suicide by ingesting a poisonous leaf. Perhaps what was even more offensive was that all the Indian characters were being portrayed by white European singers. _Why not find some Indian opera singers, dammit? You had zero trouble finding a Japanese soprano for Cio-Cio-san, so why no Indian soprano for Lakmé?_

Wolfgang was already put off by the premise; he never liked seeing female characters becoming so dependent and spineless. He was also put off by the image of white singers dressed in Indian clothing, trying to act as Indian characters.

“Wow, what is this place?” Kala’s voice interrupted him. Sure enough, the pharmacist was sitting in an empty seat next to him.

Wolfgang couldn’t help but smile. He’d definitely grown a soft spot for this sweet Indian woman. “Nice seeing you here, Kala,” he greeted. “This is the Lindenoper, home of the Berlin State Opera.”

Kala looked at him in surprise. “You like opera?” she asked.

“Felix does, actually,” he admitted. Fortunately, Felix had gone to the bathroom. “He was interested in seeing this show, so I decided to watch it with him.”

Kala smiled at him. “What opera are you watching?” she asked.

“It’s called _Lakmé,”_ Wolfgang told her.

She looked pleasantly surprised. “Lakmé? That’s the name of a makeup company in India!” she said, smiling slightly. “What’s it about?”

Wolfgang sighed. Kala was probably not going to like this. “It’s a so-called ‘love story’ in the British Raj between a Hindu priestess and a British officer, which ends in the priestess committing suicide when he abandons her for his duties,” he explained.

Sure enough, Kala looked very bewildered. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked. “That’s very… absurd.”

Wolfgang nodded in agreement, chuckling slightly. “I know. But I promised that I’d watch it with Felix, so…”

In that moment, Felix returned to his seat. _Speak of the devil,_ Wolfgang thought. He glanced down at his watch. Ten minutes until the show started. Glancing around, he saw that the house was fairly full, yet no one was going to be taking the seat next to him. Well, except for Kala, but no one else knew about that, except for Felix.

Felix had grown to understand the mental connection that Wolfgang had with seven people around the world: a cop in Chicago, a transgender woman in San Francisco, a businesswoman in Seoul, a bus driver in Nairobi, a gay actor in Mexico City, an Icelandic DJ in London, and a pharmacist in Mumbai. However, Felix had noticed just how fond Wolfgang had grown of the Indian woman, known as Kala. It surprised him, really. He never thought that Wolfgang would grow so attached to her, yet it seemed that they already shared a profound bond together.

Right then, the house lights began to dim as the conductor began making his way to the orchestra pit. Wolfgang and Felix began clapping along with everyone else as the conductor bowed. Once the applause died down, the overture began to play while the conductor coordinated the various instruments. It wasn’t long before the curtains opened up, revealing a stage that was decorated to look like a Hindu temple in the middle of a jungle.

Kala was still sitting beside him, watching the set as the chorus started singing, with German surtitles appearing ahead on the stage. When Nilakantha, Lakmé’s father, started singing about his anger in being forced to practice his religion in secret, both Kala and Wolfgang remembered the priests at the temple in Mumbai, and their anger at Rajan’s father trying to get rid of Hindu temples in India.

But there was one thing wrong with this scene.

“That’s not right,” Kala said softly. “Hinduism was never banned in British India.” She cringed at the singers. “And… why are they all white? Why aren’t there any Indian singers?”

Wolfgang shrugged. “I have no idea.”

It wasn’t long before Lakmé stepped forth, dressed in a red saree, a black braided wig, and a red bindi in the center of her forehead. She began singing in a high and light voice, singing in fluent French to her servant girl, Mallika.

“Why is the priestess in red?” Kala asked. “Red is a bridal colour! Only brides wear red! And why on earth would they have servants?”

Wolfgang agreed with her. It made no sense for priests to have servants.

As Act I continued, Wolfgang began to slowly grow more incredulous at what he was seeing. The whole damn setup was ridiculous, the entire production looked like a mockery of Indian culture, and the romance between Lakmé and Gérald was unbelievable. Personally, he found it hard to believe that a Hindu priestess could fall in love with an officer from the British Empire, the same empire that committed horrific atrocities in India. Besides, what did Gérald even do to attract Lakmé so suddenly? That confused Wolfgang quite a bit.

Eventually, Nilakantha discovered that a British officer trespassed on temple grounds and with a declaration of, “Vengeance! Il faut qu’il meure!”, Act I ended. It was now the intermission.

Wolfgang stepped outside of the building, sitting on the stone steps. “That… was unbelievable,” he said to himself.

“I’ll say,” Kala agreed. She was sitting next to him, dressed in a cotton kurtha and jeans. “It was ludicrous, and I’m not happy with how they portrayed my culture.”

“Honestly, I’m more confused as to why Lakmé was suddenly attracted to Gérald,” Wolfgang admitted. “He’s part of the empire that’s oppressing her people and culture, and he trespassed on sacred grounds, right? Why is she attracted to him?”

Kala looked thoughtful. “Well, there have been stories of British men marrying Indian women,” she said. “I’m guessing that it happened before Britain became violent towards India, though.”

“What about your culture?” Wolfgang asked.

“I don’t like the way Nilakantha is portrayed,” Kala told him. “He acts like some cult leader whose blind and bloodthirsty followers will obey him no matter what. But his anger… it reminded me of the priests who are upset about Rajan’s father wanting to get rid of Hindu temples.” She glanced at him. “It’s like the opera is trying to show how we Indians ‘need’ Western civilization to save ourselves, or some nonsense.”

Wolfgang looked thoughtful. “I never thought of that,” he said. “That’s… a very good point.”

“Wolfgang.” Felix emerged from the building. “Act II’s about to start. Come on.”

“Alright.” Wolfgang stood up and followed him back to the auditorium where they resumed their seats.

The house lights dimmed once more and the audience applauded the conductor before the orchestra started playing as the curtains opened. Act II opened up in the marketplace, where Nilakantha forces Lakmé to sing the Bell Song to lure out Gérald.

As the soprano sang the enchanting aria, Wolfgang thought about what Kala had said about the portrayal of Indian people in this opera. Specifically, he remembered what she said about how Indian people ‘needed’ to be ‘saved’ by Western people from their own religion or something like that. Lakmé was almost exactly like Cio-Cio-san in _Madama Butterfly:_ ‘exotic’, submissive, giving up everything for the love of a white man who didn’t deserve her undying devotion, and ultimately dying for him at the end.

Even though the Bell Song was pretty, Wolfgang was still unimpressed. Likewise, Kala was also very unimpressed with the whole act.

“I don’t understand why he’d put in such an effort into killing an officer,” Kala said, raising an eyebrow. “Then again, I’d be just as upset if I found out an enemy soldier has trespassed on sacred grounds and made a pass at my daughter.”

“The whole thing with all the people crowding around Lakmé to hear her story of the Pariah’s Daughter is a bit… much,” Wolfgang added. “Can’t they hear it from somewhere else?”

The second act seemed to drag on forever, and Wolfgang was growing impatient. _How long does it take to stab an officer?_ He wondered, annoyed. But eventually, Nilakantha stabbed Gérald, only for him to survive the attack, so Lakmé escapes with Gérald into the forest with the help of a servant. And with Lakmé’s cry of, “Je ne vivais que de ta vie, Dieu protège nos amours!”, Act II ended.

Just like the previous intermission, Wolfgang went outside the building and sat down on the steps. Sure enough, Kala seemed to appear right next to him.

“You know, the Bell Song was kind of pretty,” Kala admitted.

Wolfgang shrugged. “Sounded nice, yeah,” he agreed. “But still, it’s very… clichéd. Like, come on, couldn’t the French give Indian women a bit more credit?”

Kala chuckled at that. “Lakmé doesn’t appeal to you?” she teased.

Wolfgang rolled his eyes in amusement. “First of all, Lakmé isn’t an actual Indian person,” he said. “She’s just a fantasy of a British officer: all docile and submissive. I don’t want a fantasy. And besides, I like it when a woman is more confident and strong.” He gave her a small smile. “Like you.”

At that, Kala blushed. “Wait… really?” she asked, looking at him in surprise.

“Yeah.” Wolfgang looked down, not knowing what the hell got into him. But before either of them could say anything more, Felix appeared, telling Wolfgang to come back inside.

Once more, Wolfgang went to the auditorium and resumed his seat, just as the lights dimmed. Act III, the final act, was starting.

The curtains opened up, the set now decorated to look like a forest. Gérald was sleeping on a makeshift bed while Lakmé sang a lullaby about white doves under ‘a starry canopy’ or something like that. At some point, when Gérald woke up, they started hearing the chorus singing about a spring of magical water. According to Lakmé, lovers who drink the water would be granted eternal love.

“There’s no such belief like that!” Kala said incredulously, watching as Lakmé left to get the water.

“It’s definitely a cliché,” Wolfgang agreed. “And why Lakmé is so deeply in love with Gérald is still beyond me.”

Of course, the romantic atmosphere was ruined when Frédéric entered and reminded Gérald of his duties to the British Empire. And as quick as a switch, Gérald became all cold and distant towards Lakmé, who was confused and hurt.

Wolfgang shook his head. “See? He never really loved her,” he muttered.

Kala sighed. “And yet he earned such undeserved devotion from her.”

They watched as Lakmé, now heartbroken, ate a datura leaf to commit suicide. At that, Kala was appalled.

“Why is she doing that?!” she asked. “He’s not worth her life!”

“And he has the nerve to act shocked,” Wolfgang added.

Now, Lakmé started singing about how he gave her the sweetest dream, how she learned so much from him, and how he spoke sweet words that not even the Hindus knew. And then Gérald drank the magic water so that eternal love would be granted. At this point, Wolfgang had to call bullshit, especially after Nilakantha refused to kill Gérald when Lakmé died in his arms. And with Nilakantha’s declaration of, “Elle porte là-haut nos voeux, Elle est dans la splendeur des cieux!”, the opera was finished.

After applauding the singers and the orchestra, Wolfgang and Felix left the opera house and went to their car. It didn’t take too long for him to get home, but once he did, Wolfgang quickly removed his tie and blazer before unbuttoning the first two buttons on his shirt.

“What’d you think of it?” Felix had asked in the car on the way home. “I thought it was just ridiculous.”

“Just like what I think of _Madama Butterfly:_ it’s shit,” Wolfgang had said.

Removing his shirt, Wolfgang lay back on his bed, thinking about what he just saw. Again, Kala appeared next to him, sitting on the mattress. “You know, I didn’t like it either,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” he said. “Her death aria was bullshit. The hell does that mean, ‘you taught me sweet words not even the Hindus knew’? He didn’t teach her anything at all. And she poisoned herself over him, even though she barely knew him.”

Kala nodded. “Sadly, that’s how people used to see us,” she said. Right then, she remembered what Wolfgang told her, about being confident and strong. “Wolfgang… what you said earlier… you really think I’m strong?”

Wolfgang recalled that moment, thinking about his response to Kala’s question as to whether Lakmé appealed to him.

One thing for sure was that Lakmé definitely did not appeal to him. She was no more than a fantasy, one that made her out to be ‘exotic’ and docile. Wolfgang really didn’t like that kind of a portrayal, especially considering his mental connection to Kala. It was degrading to Kala and to other Indian women, to make them out to be submissive and timid. And to have her just blindly devote herself to a man who didn’t deserve it? Yeah, Wolfgang did not like that.

Kala, on the other hand… she was definitely strong. Yes, she was gentle-natured, but she was also quite strong-willed, like silk hiding steel. She was understanding and willing to give chances, but she was not someone who would blindly devote herself to a person who showed interest in her. Kala was stronger than that. If someone wanted Kala’s good favour, they’d have to be respectful to her and accept her. Kala did not just blindly devote herself to Wolfgang. She had faith in him, she encouraged him, she… she was more than he deserved. Hell, she was stronger than he ever hoped to be. And he wanted to be someone who was worthy of her.

Kala Dandekar was an amazing, wonderful woman. She was strong, confident, kind, and encouraging. She was so much more than Lakmé.

Wolfgang turned to her. “You’re quite strong,” he said. “Probably stronger than I ever hope to be.”

Kala smiled at him. “You’re just as strong, Wolfgang,” she told him. “You just have to stop being so harsh to yourself.”

Wolfgang smiled lightly. “I’ll do my best,” he promised. “Good night, Kala.”

Kala gave him a smile. “Good night, Wolfgang. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translation notes:
> 
> Vengeance! Il faut qu'il meure!- Vengeance! He must die!
> 
> Je ne vivais que de ta vie, Dieu protège nos amours!- I'll not live without your life, God, protect our love!
> 
> Elle porte là-haut nos voeux, Elle est dans la splendeur des cieux!- She takes our vows up high, she is in the splendour of the skies!
> 
> Let me know what you think... :) Have a good one!


End file.
